Scripture: Exodus 2:1-15
I had intended to ground my preaching in the book of Exodus this fall. I still intend to ground my preaching in the book of Exodus this fall, though my preaching may be somewhat different than I had originally imagined. I’m not entirely sure how it will be different, but I am sure it will be different, because life is different. But as I look again at the book of Exodus, I find that it does still speak to me, and that it still seems to be appropriate, given the circumstances of our lives.
One of those circumstances this week is Rosh Hashana, which began last Monday evening. Rosh Hashanah is sometimes referred to as the Jewish New Year, but the spirit of that observance, as I understand it as an outsider, is much more than simply marking the passage of time. The ten day period that begins with Rosh Hashanah and ends with Yom Kippur is a time for reflection and repentance, a time to assess where one is in one’s life, spiritually speaking, and to consider what changes may be called for.
The president’s speech Thursday night called us to unity, and to a national and international effort to punish and prevent terrorism. Whatever one may think of what the president said or how he said it, I think it is fair to say that he did not issue a call to be reflective or self-critical. Clearly that was not his purpose, but it must continue to be ours. Rosh Hashanah invites people toward a new beginning that involves more than the effort to combat terrorism. Rosh Hashanah is not our holiday, but its spirit of reflection and self-examination is a needed element in our future. I raise up the observance of Rosh Hashanah for that reason today, and pray that it may in some senses become our holiday.
I raise it up for another reason as well. Somewhere this week I read a comment about Rosh Hashanah, that like all holy days in Judaism it is built on remembrance of the experience of being delivered from slavery. The book of Exodus, which describes that deliverance, is the foundation in many ways for Judaism, but it has also been a foundational story for many others in their search for freedom and in their understanding of what their Christian faith is all about. I’m remember portions of the Seder services that I have participated in that call for each person to think of himself or herself as though it was we ourselves who had been led from slavery to freedom. Perhaps one reason to do that is to suggest that we ourselves need to make a similar journey in our own day, that this story needs to be re-enacted in our lives. Another reason may be to remind us of the value of putting ourselves in the place of another person.
That is what Moses did at the beginning of the book of Exodus in the story we heard today. Moses had a conversion experience. You remember how the story begins, with Pharaoh worrying about the Hebrew people rising up in rebellion and ordering all the male children killed, and Moses being born and set out in the marshes where he was discovered by the Pharaoh’s daughter, and then being brought to the palace where he was raised in luxurious surroundings, partially by his own mother, and rising eventually to a position of power in Pharaoh’s cabinet.
Then one day, we are told, he saw a Hebrew, one of his people, being beaten by an Egyptian overseer, and instead of identifying with the person who had power, who was one of his employees, Moses’ heart went out to the one who was powerless. In fact it wasn’t just his heart that went out; it was his whole body that he took out to stand beside the person who was being beaten, and to take up his cause. He ended up killing the Egyptian and then having to flee to the desert in fear for his own life.
Now there’s a lot more of this story to come before the Hebrew people are actually liberated from their slavery in Egypt, find their way through the Red Sea, and begin their journey to find the promised land. We’ll get to the rest of the story. There are all sorts of riches to be discovered in that story.
For now, what I want to suggest is that this incident right at the beginning of the book of Exodus is not just the first incident in the long sweeping story of the liberation of a people. It is itself a story of liberation.
The Hebrew people may not have been liberated in this chapter, but Moses was. When Moses saw his kinsman being beaten and when he then had his conversion experience that led him to put himself in that person’s place, first emotionally and then physically—when Moses made that jump from seeing things the way he saw them to seeing things the way the other person saw them and felt them, two things happened, it seems to me. Moses understood in his body that the people who were living in slavery were in need of liberation. And he also understood, or at least began to understand, or at least began to get a glimmer, that he was in need of liberation.
It’s hardly a new thought that it’s a good thing to walk in the other person’s shoes, to see things from another person’s perspective. When we do that, of course we understand the other person better, have a better understanding of their needs or aspirations, and a better understanding of how we might be of help to that person. That’s the part about Moses understanding that those slaves out there should be treated better, or maybe set free.
But there’s another part to this. It’s not just a question of understanding someone else better, but of understanding ourselves better. It’s not just a question of doing what’s good for someone else, but also what’s good for ourselves. Being willing to walk in someone else’s shoes, doing that in some kind of a serious way, is not likely to make us comfortable. It is likely—and I realize this is a faith statement—to be good for our souls.
Maybe the first step in any movement toward liberation, personal or political, is to be liberated from living entirely within one’s own skin. That would be a good thing, an important thing, at any time. It has an urgent importance in our present circumstances—the ability to be free enough to see things from other people’s eyes, especially those who are without power in our world. It may come naturally to want to defend the world we have grown accustomed to. It doesn’t come so naturally to want to see the world the way others experience it. It’s not just a question of trying to understand how people in other countries view the United States, though that is important. It’s also the larger task of how people in other countries, in other circumstances, are led to view the world.
We need to be liberated not only from living within our own skins, but from living parochially, seeing the world from within our own culture or nation. The story of Moses leaving the palace to go and be with the slave who was being beaten is a story of liberation in this sense too. Moses was biologically a Hebrew but he grew up as an Egyptian, living in the Pharaoh’s palace, playing with the Pharaoh’s children, eating the Pharaoh’s food, sleeping between the Pharaoh’s sheets, swimming in the Pharaoh’s pool, playing games on the Pharaoh’s computer. As an adult, Moses held a responsible position in Pharaoh’s government. What happened in this story is that Moses realized that this whole culture of privilege that he had grown up in and had benefited from had become a prison. And he had to leave it, and he did leave it. When he stepped from the security of the palace to take up a place beside a slave, Moses gained his freedom.
I don’t know what that means for us. I don’t know yet what it will mean for me to be willing to leave the palace. I do believe that although we Americans view ourselves as being defenders of freedom, that we are ourselves in need of liberation. I have some thoughts on that already—the ways in which we are in need of liberation—but I promised myself to be brief today. So I will save those thoughts, such as they are, for the weeks ahead, and in the meantime will continue to reflect, and ask myself about what the ways may be that we stand in need of liberation. I invite you to do the same. Amen.
Jim Bundy
September 23, 2001